You don't need a license to drive a hero sandwich!
by Cookie-the-Platypus
Summary: It's the Spongebob Movie, Hetalia style! Seriously, that's it. An alternate retelling of the Spongebob movie. Be ready for random crack, crossdressing, quotes from awesome movies, pointless breaking of the fourth wall, and MUCH MORE!
1. Prologue: A dream? Heroic dream!

**Hello fans of Hetalia and Spongebob or maybe one but not the other! Welcome! Welcome! I hope you enjoy my first fanfiction! XD I have to warn you though... the first two chapters are... actually really lame... -_- But I take pride in my 3rd chapter! And it's only going to get more crack-tastic from there! XDD**

**Synopsis: When Alfred's dreams get crushed after he doesn't become manager of a popular British restaurant, he seeks meditation through his best friend Feliciano, and a LOT of ice cream... Back at the restaurant, Francis is tired of Arthur overshadowing his restaurant and gets advice from a stranger on how to end it all. Stealing King Vash's rifle may have been a bit extreme, but it works; as Arthur becomes, well, "immobile", and Alfred and Italy are sent on a journey of heroic heroness for heroes... Or something like that. Prepare for stupidity, musical numbers, and lack of reading the atmosphere!**

**BEFORE YOU READ - Hetalia Reef is underwater, but the characters themselves are human. Why? Because it would be difficult to place every hetalia character to a species of fish... But feel free to try it, I'd love to see what you come up with...**

**And so, our story begins in Hetalia Reef, a quiet place where not a lot happens...**

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-O-O-O-

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**Prologue: A dream? Heroic dream!**

An anxious crowd surrounded the _Bloody Pirate._

Muttering in hushed, troubled tones, they looked to each other, wondering who would be brave enough to do something. A furrowed brow here, a frightened frown over there; each one watched the restaurant as if it were a time bomb ready to explode. Although, that did not prevent curious eyes from attempting to peer into the glass walls.

"Back up! Back up!" Police directed the intrigued individuals away. Whistles were blown and helicopters roared overhead. Elizaveta Héderváry, along with many other news anchors, was on the scene, speaking into a camera with a quivering voice. She seemed to be murmuring something about 'the biggest scandal of the century' and how 'if this event is not handled with delicacy and precision, the conclusion could be fatal not only to Hetalia Reef, but to the entire world.' The cameramen looked ready to flee at any given moment, which did not ease the tension surrounding the building.

The owner of the restaurant, Arthur Kirkland, was in front of multiple eager cameras and microphones, trying to settle the press and group of paying customers.

"Please do not panic, we have everything under control..." Regardless of his words, Feliciano was bawling, rolling around on the ground with a ticked off Lovino swearing at him with colorful words. "Please wait until our wonderful, remarkable manager shows up to assess the situation. He'll know just what to do!"

He looked around at his loyal patrons. Women and children with those wide, timid eyes and men who looked uncertain to believe his words crowded around him. He had to be strong for them. He had to keep their fear at bay until the one man who could save the day made his appearance.

"Look! There he is!"

Arthur let out a sigh he did not realize he was holding when a black limousine, burger painted on the side, pulled up to the restaurant. A hero jumped out from its doors, emanating a cheer from the worried citizens. Cameras shot rare pictures, women swooned at the sight of him, and children ran up with a pen and paper in hopes to obtain a valuable autograph.

"Did anyone call for a hero?"

The crowd responded with a hurrah, just as one policeman fainted while another called out 'I love you, Alfred Jones!'

"And I love you, random citizen!" The manager called back. The policeman fainted. Arthur rushed over without a minute to spare.

"Thank God you're here, Alfred! We have a situation in there!" To say the owner was thankful to see the uber-awesome, once-in-a-lifetime celebrity was an understatement. Alfred F. Jones was not only a manager of the _Bloody Pirate_, but the one and only protector of Hetalia reef! His actions were unheard of anywhere else in the world, and while other cities bribed him with money and fame, he claimed he could never leave the defenseless people of his hometown.

"What seems to be the problem?" Slipping on black shades, the blond was as awesome as ever as he made haste to the glass entranceway. A distressed Englishman followed close behind.

"W-Well, the day was going on normally; you know, people coming in and ordering. Everything was fine until..." The businessman trailed off.

"Until...?"

Arthur seemed hesitant to continue, his voice shaking and on the edge of terror. "T-The order! The poor customer came over, white as a sheet, and it turned out...!"

"Hold on, Kirkland. It's perfectly okay to be scared..." The valiant, chivalrous manager placed a hand on his senior's shoulder. "Just go slow. Simple words. What happened?"

Practically in tears, Arthur wailed. "The drink was a large! He ordered a medium and came back with a large! I've soiled the good _Bloody Pirate_ name!" Without being able to contain it, the Englishman burst out sobbing. "Soiled it! Soiled it!"

Alfred slapped him.

"Get ahold of yourself, Kirkland."

Arthur looked up with vulnerable, jade orbs.

"I'm going in."

Kicking open the guarded doors, the manager dauntlessly examined the scene inside. The familiar building was dark and empty, save for one trembling customer sitting upright in his seat. Only two items were placed upon his table: a normal burger, and a seemingly innocent soda.

Nantucket bounced flawlessly as Alfred made his way cooly over to the tall male. "Don't worry, friend. I'm the hero of this establishment. Just do what I tell you, how I tell you and everything will be just fine."

"D-Da." The man hid his face in a purple scarf, nervous eyes glancing from his infected meal to his soon-to-be savior. He watched as the other male brought out a silvery briefcase and positioned it on the table.

"You got a name?"

"B-Braginski. Ivan Braginski." The case opened with such ease, only projecting a small squeak from polished hinges. Ivan watched in panic.

"Mind if I call you Ivan?" Effortlessly, the American pulled out rubber, ebony gloves. The man cringed.

"N-Nyet... G-Go ahead."

"You got a family, Ivan?"

The Russian whimpered and looked to his meal in fright, hiding his nose deeper into the warmth of the violet fabric. The hero snapped his fingers, catching the customer's attention once again.

"Ivan, was it? Look here. I've got everything under control." The tall male shivered, but obeyed. "Just tell me about that family. Wife? Kids?"

"N-Nyet. Just two beautiful sisters..." He looked down, holding back the urge to cry in front of such a figure. "I-I only want to go see them..."

"Don't worry, Ivan. I've got this all under control." Alfred analyzed the contents of his briefcase. Multiple tools with unknown purposes were sorted neatly inside, but he had his eye on one in particular. "I just want you to do one thing for me..."

"D-Da?"

"Hold this, and come calmly with me."

The American had to force Ivan's hands onto the table, where he settled an ivory cardboard cup inside. The customer whined quietly as the manager helped him from his seat and escorted him silently and smoothly to the soda machine. When the Russian was positioned in front of it, he peeked over at Alfred for guidance.

"Now... This process is simpler than it looks. You see those soda names?" Ivan hesitantly nodded. "Just tell me which one you had and we'll be out of here in a flash."

The male stood noiselessly for a second, then replied with a whisper: "Third from the left."

Just as he said, there it was.

The typical Coca Cola.

"Now, place your hand under that faucet there. Don't worry. I got your back."

The Russian looked hesitant, but placed the cup exactly where it was supposed to go. The chestnut-colored drink came pouring out. He gasped and almost pulled his hand away until Alfred stopped him.

"You can do this. Just a bit more."

Only a third full, and the male tried to jerk his hand away. The beloved hero held it firmly in place. "A bit more..."

"R-Really, I'm fine with this, da? W-We can all go home and-"

"You paid for the medium drink and we're getting you the medium drink!" Alfred had his eyes trained to the contents of the cup. Only half full. "Wait a bit longer..."

Ivan's hand started to shake.

"A bit more..."

Ivan wailed in fright.

"Ivan, just hold on. Just a bit more...!"

From outside, Arthur shifted his weight from one foot to the other, watching as the other uneasy patrons attempted to catch a glimpse of what was going on inside. Suddenly, the door burst open. Everybody turned to see their hero, Alfred F. Jones, holding an innocent citizen safely in his arms.

"Order for table 8?"

The crowd was in uproar with joy. A mob dashed up to the American with gleeful exuberance, asking questions and pressing microphones and cameras to his face. Ivan jumped out of his arms happily and rushed over to embrace his sisters, blushing happily as he held up the drink to surrounding oohs and aahs.

"How did you do it?" One shady reporter asked suspiciously.

_"Alfred..."_

A bouncy, blond woman shoved a mic into Alfred's face. "Will you continue to do other things like this in the future?"

_"Alfred...!"_

"And another day is saved thanks to the heroic efforts of our hometown hero: Alfred F. Jones!" Elizaveta exclaimed happily to the lens, projecting the fearless, talented manager on every TV screen in Hetalia Reef, and maybe the entire world...

_"Come ON, Alfred...!"_

The American laughed at the awestruck crowd. "It's just what I do! Hey, did you hear something?"

_"I'm not being THAT quiet...! Am I?"_

The celebrity manager only dismissed the noise as his boss ran over with a giant check for McDonalds, just for him. It was probably just the wind anyways! The hero laughed.

_"Well, I tried every- No no no! Kumacon! Wait! Sto-!"_

Alfred's face met with a fuzzy stomach.

In surprise, and lack of air, the American flailed and rolled right onto a hardwood floor, taking his Superman bedsheets with him. His forehead was the first thing that landed, and he groaned loudly in pain as he rolled onto his back.

"What's going on? Is there a fire?!" The blond hastily rubbed his eyes and searched blindly for his bedside table, which he ended up smashing his head into. "Good God, DID SOMEONE BREAK IN AND STEAL THE XBOX?!"

"Um... What? No... No real emergency, just... Sorry... I didn't know Kumajiraroo would do THAT..."

Once Alfred finally caught hold of his glasses, his eyes met with the worried violet ones of his brother. His surroundings were not of the Bloody Pirate which he had once been, but of his familiar, American-style room. White-washed walls wearing a coat of posters of Superheroes and Cartoons surrounded the brothers. Electronics were messily crowded into the shelves under the TV, their cords and wires swirling around the floor like snakes ready for the kill. The wrappers of yesterday's McDonalds piled themselves into a lonely corner, and seemed to look perfectly fine despite his brother's nagging that they would attract insects or mould. There sat Tony on a pile of used clothes, playing a video game which he seemed to be losing at, according to the language he was using. It was the perfect hero room.

After hearing that everything was okay, the blond pouted. "Why'd you wake me up then Mattie? I was having a kick-ass dream!"

After muttering something Alfred couldn't hear, the timid brother, Matthew Williams, explained, "You're late for work, you know. I... Uh... I thought I should wake you up."

Alfred turned to the clock. "I'm only ten minutes late, dude! I could have got away with five more minutes!"

Laughing heartily, the American didn't realize the bear he had been sitting on squeezing out from under his coat and flopping onto the wooden ground. The pet groggily stood up, shook it off, and lazily trudged back to his owner's arms. Matthew willingly scooped blob of ivory fur up, bluntly ignoring the customary "Who are you?"

Already used to this daily routine, the Canadian sighed. "I think you keep forgetting that ARTHUR is your boss. You know, Kirkland? The guy who barely lets you have a lunch break? THAT guy?"

The American waved his hand dismissively, "Don't sweat it, bro! That guy's all talk! And besides, I'm the hero!" Said hero jumped up and threw his fists up triumphantly. "Nobody gets angry at the hero!"

"Whatever you say..." Matthew sighed, departing the bedroom. However, Alfred didn't seem to catch him mumble, "Just don't come crying to me when he yells at you..."

After the door shut, Alfred deeply breathed in the musky smell of his room. It was time for a new day! This hero prided himself on his speedy preparation, although getting his head stuck in the arm of his sweater wasn't exactly part of the plan... Nor was tripping down the stairs. However, without those minor setbacks, Alfred would have reached a record time of 46 seconds! He bounced happily into the kitchen, where Tony and Kuma... What was his actual name again? Anyways, the two were enjoying a joyous breakfast conversation of swear words and repetitive questions.

Matthew glanced over from the stove, where fumes of breakfast curled and swirled as if dancing to the morning sun. The kitchen was white; white walls, white tiles, and even white cupboards. Surprisingly, the table was a deep beige colour, but that didn't stop Alfred from complaining to his brother that they should spice up the place. However, the Canadian didn't seem to be too fond of the neon green sign that would scream KITCHEN, or the way the way the lamp would transform into a disco ball. Whatever. He was no fun anyways.

"You're ready already? Wow... Hey, do you need a lunch?" The blond seemed to be frying up pancakes. Again.

"Uh... No thanks dude! I'll have something there." Choosing between burgers and pancakes for Alfred F. Jones, hero and soon to be manager of the _Bloody Pirate_, was an easy choice. "I'm the cook! I'm allowed to have whatever I want there!"

"Sure..." The Canadian muttered.

"Oh! And don't forget that I'm becoming manager today! Set your clocks! 11:30 sharp!"

"Of course..."

"Oh! Oh! Can we have McDonalds tonight?"

To this, Matthew spun around. "Wh-What? Why?"

"Because I REAAAALY like McDonalds..." Alfred looked up with those puppy-dog eyes. "Pleeeeeease? I'll be your best friend!"

"We just had that yesterday!" The other groaned, rubbing his temples. He didn't understand the awesomeness that is McDonalds every day. He didn't seem to understand a lot of awesome things. How were they related again? "Ugh, fine. But only because of your promotion, okay?"

Alfred's spirits soared. This was it. Manager of the _Bloody Pirate_. His dream would become a reality... Even if he wasn't particularly fond of the idea of Arthur bursting into tears. That was just creepy. What did he eat before bed again? Oh right! McDonalds! Ahaha!

Speaking of fast food...

"I love you, man!" the American embraced his brother in a bear hug, knocking the two of them off balance and toppling to the ground.

The Canadian couldn't help but smile, his curl bouncing softly in the kitchen fumes. "Whatever you say, Alfred..."

With a heroic laugh, the American brushed himself off and skipped out of the house. Singing some upbeat song he heard on a cartoon, but changing the lyrics to make it more... his style.

"I'm ready, to BE A HERO! I'm ready, to BE A HERO!"

* * *

Back in the kitchen, Matthew sighed in exasperation. He almost couldn't find it in himself to peek over at the marble clock, suspended innocently on the beige paint of the wall.

Late again.

Not that he didn't love his brother, oh no. He cared about Alfred more than anyone in the world. He was his own flesh and blood! However, there are just some times when...

The Canadian shook his head. Then there was that whole promotion ideal...

Tossing his coat over his shoulders and pacing to the door, the blond wondered how his brother would act in the ceremony when they chose a new manager. Both good and bad outcomes arose in his mind.

_No matter what happens, the McDonalds will cheer him up, right?_

With that shred of confidence, Matthew turned the knob and felt the refreshing Hetalian breeze hit his skin. "Be good you guys..." He called to the two left in the house, although neither probably heard him, and trudged along the sidewalk.

Thank Maple HIS boss wasn't Arthur Kirkland...

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-O-O-O-

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**So... Who liked Alfred's dream?**

**YAY FOR OOC CRACK!**

**Can anybody imagine Arthur bursting out into tears WITHOUT the influence of alcohol over a soda? What about Russia shivering in fear in one of those Krusty Krab chairs? And who REALLY believes that Alfred could act all cool and collected within that sort of situation? No. He'd be laughing at Arthur's face, whom would then start yelling at him. Then out comes Russia... God knows what he did with the poor medium-sized drink... *shivers***

**And for emphasis on Alfred's dream, I even used American spelling! Woo! XDD**

**And the Xbox wasn't stolen, much to the relief of certain video gamers...**

**So that was it. The first chapter of my first fanfiction. I hoped you liked it. Maybe I'll see how popular it is before starting on the second chapter (which is actually the "first chapter"... Technically). Who knows? Maybe nobody likes Hetalia-Spongebob fanfictions... *goes into sad-Tamaki mode and grows mushrooms in your closet***

**Does anybody look forward to the disclaimers just to see what people write? I do...**

**DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Hetalia, sadly, or Spongebob, thankfully, or McDonalds, which doesn't matter, because I'm vegetarian anyways! :D I don't own anything American, including their spelling, their dream sequences, or their alien friends. I don't own any restaurants, or the name Bloody Pirate... though don't ask me who DOES own that name, because I really don't know. Although, I will gladly place dibs on it if it doesn't exist! :D**

**Sorry about the really long author comment. I promise I will learn how to write a shorter one as I get more experience in the fanfiction world... -_-**


	2. Chapter 1: A grudge? Find plan zéd!

**I'm baaaack~!**

**First of all, THANK YOU TO MY SUPPORTERS! I love you guys! This being my first fanfiction, I was happy that people actually favourited it and followed it! I even got my first review! :D It made me really surprised, as I really wasn't that proud of my prologue... I wish I could just skip the intro and go right to plot, but that would leave some holes in the story, so... Sorry. Just a bit more intro, then the manager-choosing scene! XD**

**I can't stress how sorry I am that it's taking such a long time... I seriously didn't expect this chapter to go the way it did, and I'm not proud of the way I portray France... I was also having continuous struggles with Google Translate and sentence structure... If you see ANY mistakes, or if something doesn't sound right, feel free to tell me about it! My PM box is always open for suggestions, and I actually secretly crave the attention...**

**Oh, and I feel bad that I couldn't put America AND Italy as the characters in this fic. I really wanted to use them both... Oh well. What are you going to do when you live in a shoe? (You tie up your laces and go to the races~! XD)**

**Man, these author notes aren't getting any shorter, are they? I'm so sorry... *ashamed***

**Regardless... Please enjoy... :D**

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-O-O-O-

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**Chapter 1: A grudge? Find plan zéd!**

Skipping along, Alfred knew it was going to be a good day. The lustrous sun was glittering onto translucent waves above, and clams sung and sashayed in the wind's current. The reef was in an abundant bloom with citrus coral, crimson blossoms, and lavender anemones, all planted within the creamy Hetalian soil. Clouds shaped like petals soared overhead, blessing the town with serene skies. It was a nice day for a stroll...

Or working in a grease-filled restaurant with a haughty boss breathing down your neck...

But Alfred had yet to get to that destination.

Ignoring the badgering feeling of getting to work, the American knew that he had to first pay respects to his best friend, and only Goofy Goober buddy (yet another thing Matthew couldn't understand), Feliciano Vargas. The two of them had been friends since they were babies, and moving next door to each other was Alfred's idea, although Feli's brother wasn't too happy. However, it was better than "moving next to a potato-bastard," he claimed. Apparently tomato farmers and potato farmers didn't get along well. Even if potatoes were potahtos and tomahtos were tomatoes, potahtoes could not be tomatoes and tomahtoes could not be potatoes. But could potahtoes be tomahtoes? Oh shoot, now he was getting mixed up in his own metaphor! Let's see... Tomahtoes are tomatoes, but are they? I mean, why pronounce them differently if they're the same word? Man... Why do these things get so popular if nobody can understand them?!

Banging a little too loudly on the wooden door, the blond tried to sort out the figure of speech. However, the voices from the other side quickly snapped him out of his confusion and he leaned in to eavesdrop. Not that he really needed to. The bickering brothers could be heard almost a little TOO clearly.

"Who is that fratello?" A joyous voice bounced from inside.

"Like hell if I know! YOU answer the door!"

"But I'm eating Pastaaaa~! Ve~!"

"To hell with your stupid pasta! Go out and get a life!"

The voice whined. "But Lovi-"

"Don't you DARE use that tone with me!" The sound of something smashing emanated from the other side. Alfred blinked, and pressed his ear into the door. "I have work to go to! What the hell are YOU doing?! Besides, it's probably that American bastard anyways!"

On that cue, the door swung open, flinging a monitoring blond off the porch and face-first into a nearby coral bush. Now, coral isn't usually the softest of material, and the American felt little stems scratch at his face like a kitten would. When he was finally able to push himself up, he met the glare of a very miffed Italian, whom was dressed in his regular beige uniform and the hat Arthur instructed both of them to wear.

Alfred, unable to read the atmosphere, smiled. "Hey Lovi, is Feli home?"

"Don't ever call me that name, bastardo!" Pointing a threatening finger, Lovino Vargas hissed in his humourless voice. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?!"

"Aren't you?"

"I have my excuse, damn it!" The brunette yelled, scarlet crossing along his face and suddenly on the defensive. He huffed and stormed off, not making any sort of eye contact as he stomped down the street. Though, wearing the anchor hat, it didn't look too threatening to see him like that. In fact, it was almost humorous. A child on the street laughed at him, but he ignored it.

"Whatever dude!" The American called after him. Lovino didn't reply. He never did. Alfred didn't expect him to.

"Ve~! Alfredo!"

Suddenly, the blond was embraced by a swaying Italian, his curl bouncing happily and pasta crammed into his mouth. You know, the usual.

"What's up, Feli?" The American scanned the inside of Feliciano's house. It was a bright place, where lots of sunlight poured in, much unlike his own room. The walls were a sea green shade and wooden floors coloured in beige. With the amount of cooking the brothers did, often the area was painted in white dust and multiple unique sauces; however, today there seemed to be the remains of a shattered azure vase splattered across the floor... Regardless, the air always felt fresh in the Italian's house, and hit whomever entered with the taunting taste of a bakery. Even if Alfred was a hamburger helper at heart, he still loved the Italian cuisine as much as anybody else. In fact, there were days when the blond would stay over just to have some of Feliciano's famous pasta (which, surprisingly, wasn't all that famous in Hetalia Reef).

"Ve! Nothing! I just finished, see?" Feliciano skipped to the sparkling, tiled kitchen, where there seemed to be a to-do list on the refrigerator wall. It was written messily in pencil on yellowish, lined paper, and stood out along the ivory of the kitchen. The brunette crossed off the word 'Nothing' with a swipe of his hand, leaving 'Sing', 'Eat', and 'Go to Bed' left standing on the parchment. "Hey, wanna sing a song with me?"

"Not right now, dude! I have to go to work!" Alfred held his head up high as he spoke of his job, for today was a special day regarding the path he chose.

"Ah! Sì! Sì! You're becoming manager today, aren't you? Ve!" Those dopey eyes shone with a childish brilliance as they looked up to the hero. "Congratulations! Congratulazioni! I wish I could do something important like you and Lovi do..."

"Don't sweat it, dude!" The American laughed, "You'll find your place! Plus, tonight we're going to PAR-TAY!"

"Ve! I love a good festa!" Feliciano waved his arms around, almost knocking over a jug which stood precariously on the corner of a chestnut table, and barely missing the toaster laying on the counter-top. However, the careless Italian did not miss the chair, which he tripped upon and stumbled to the hard surface below him. However, not even that seemed to phase his jubilant attitude. "Where are we going? The Wash? Barg'n Mart rides? Debauchery under the highway? Oh! Oh! Are we travelling on the _Underwater Heartbreaker_? Ve! Ve!"

Alfred came to notice, soon after meeting Feliciano, that the brunette often said the word: 'Ve' more often when he was excited. Or frightened. This assumption was confirmed when the two went in line for a roller coaster in town. The closer they were in line, the more times poor Feli would hyperventilate with his 've's. When the two finally got on the ride, going up, up, and up towards the sky; the Italian was practically spitting out those 've's every millisecond! He also seemed to be flailing a white flag around, surrendering to the coaster, and sobbing something about having relatives that work at a carnival... But that wasn't part of the experiment.

"No! Even better than that, dude! We're going to the place where ALL the action is!"

The brunette's eyes widened. "You don't mean...?"

"Oh. I mean." Alfred grinned.

"GOOFY GOOBER'S ICE CREAM PARTY BOAT!" They screamed in unison, towards the heavens, where the angels could hear about that wonderful place. That wonderful, wonderful place which was _Goofy Goober's Ice Cream Party Boat_. A place which Alfred treasured almost as much as his McDonalds. Almost. Goofy Goober's didn't sell burgers, but they had everything else a true goober needed: theme songs, hats, toys, and ice cream... So much ice cream... It was a place where a goober could be a goober, and their brothers wouldn't scoff at them or blink and walk away slowly. (Well, Lovino scoffed. Matthew walked away slowly. Still. It was degrading.) And NO, it was NOT like Weenie Hut Juniors. Weenie Hut Juniors was for weenies. Goofy Goobers was for goobers. There was a DIFFERENCE, people!

Feliciano, upon hearing the positive news, jumped up and raced out to another room. Before the other could react, the bouncy male leaped back in, a silly grin plastered on his face. In his hands were two things: a stereo and their limited-edition, special-order Goofy Goober Hats: with that peanut antenna and manly pink base. When the hats were announced to be released, the Goober-duo bought two each, just so that two could stay at Feliciano's house, and two could stay at Alfred's house.

As the Italian set the speaker down, Alfred realized that the intro was already playing loud and clear. If only all music could be this nostalgic...

"Ve! I'm a goofy goober, sì!"

Alfred joined in without a second thought: "You're a goofy goober, dude!"

"We're all goofy goobers, yeah! Goofy goofy goober goober, YEAH!"

Jumping up on the last note, like a freeze-frame at the end of a movie, they finished their song... Then burst out laughing and fell to the ground.

"It's been a long time since we had a musical montage, Alfredo!" The Italian giggled, drunk off the excitement.

"Yeah! Dude! We're going to party 'til we're pasta!"

"I LOVE BEING PASTA! Ve~!"

That was when the blond made the mistake of looking at the clock.

"Oh, man! It's that late already!" He jumped up and rushed to the door, making sure to place the prized headwear on the table, where it wouldn't be maliciously destroyed by some ill-tempered Italian. "Sorry, Feli! But this is more than just fashionably late! Arthur's going to be furious at me! And not the fun furious like usual!"

"Ve... I understand..." The brunette sighed, staying in his squatted position on the ground. "But what am I supposed to do while you AND Lovi are gone?"

"What do you usually do?"

The youthful Italian frowned. "Wait for you to get back... Ve..."

"But it's only for a couple hours! And there's a ceremony for manager!" Seeing Feliciano so close to tears wasn't really a rare sight, but as a HERO (sparkle, sparkle), Alfred just couldn't ignore the face of someone who was sad... Except if it was Arthur. Well, he wouldn't be able to IGNORE it, per say... Suddenly he was brought back to that dream. Poor guy cried over a soda... "You can come to that, right?"

"I can?"

"Sure you can!" He patted his friend on the back, which revived that dopey-eyed look to its original stature.

"You mean it?"

"Of course!"

"Ve! I should bring something then! To celebrate!" Suddenly back to his jolly self, the Italian bounced around the kitchen, setting out painted jars and tins of sauce. Alfred watched curiously until the baker turned around and began pushing his friend out the door. "Ve! Don't look! It's going to be a surprise!"

"Okay, dude! Whatever you say!" But as he was performing his reply, he was pushed right into the coral bush he fell into about ten minutes ago. Ouch.

Regardless of this, Alfred brushed himself off and was soon skipping down the road, humming the rest of the song on the way. Great, now it was stuck in his head. Well, at least it was a good song. A good song that nobody really understood. Alfred whistled it once at a bus station an a ten-year-old CHILD told him to shut up. The nerve. This wouldn't happen if he was a hero! He could do whatever the hell he wanted and people would look up to him!

Isn't that what being a hero is all about?

Alfred was about to ponder it, but dismissed it and shook the thought away. Deep thinking was something he was never good at, and he usually got a major headache after an attempt. Whatever. It was easier to look at the simple things in life anyways!

Like the hilarity of Arthur's fury.

Good times...

Speaking of the Englishman, there he seemed to stand: in the parking lot of the busiest restaurant in all of Hetalia Reef: _The Bloody Pirate_. He held a teacup in his hand, and seemed to be sipping it leisurely while keeping his narrow eyes on the pavement. He waited there like a hawk, scanning the area and ready to spring for his prey. Pfffft. I'm sorry, Arthur springing? Alfred was sent into a fit of laughter. Yes, ignorance certainly was bliss.

But with that serious face? Alfred couldn't help it. He knew he had to do it. He HAD to do it. No ifs, ands or buts about it.

So he snuck BEHIND the restaurant, and crept around the perimeter. Keeping close to the side and keeping his fingers on the panelling, he peeked out and saw his boss, unaware. Perfect. An ambush was DEFINITELY what his boss needed to cool down his temper.

So the American darted out and stood right behind the victim, whom didn't suspect a thing. However, the customers that were just entering those transparent doors knew that something was going to go down, and rushed inside. One even said something along the lines of 'death hath no fury like that angry Englishman...'

"ARTIE!"

Arthur nearly choked on his drink, dropping his cup as it made a shattering crash onto the pavement below. The carmine contents seemed to pop and splashed towards every direction, especially onto polished ebony shoes. The world seemed to stop then. Those caterpillar eyebrows furrowed, and forest-green eyes narrowed significantly.

Alfred knew he was in deep tarter sauce from the moment the cup burst into millions of irreplaceable shards. But why be worried? It was much more fun to laugh it off!

"Haha! Dude! That's a bummer!" He guffawed, patting his senior on the back. "What were you looking for anyways? The HERO always comes around!"

The Englishman's malachite eyes practically glowed with outrage, glaring down at the substance at his feet.

"Get inside." He hissed, capturing the American by the hood and dragging him into the greasy dining area.

"B-But wait! What about the managerial acceptance thing?"

"That isn't until 11:30, you git! We're still open until then!" The Briton shoved his employee into the kitchen, where the blond fell face-first into the pile of lettuce. What was with today and falling into plants? Maybe it was because Alfred was an expert at talking to them! Photosynthesis... Photosynthesis...

"Now stop slacking and GET BACK TO WORK! We've got orders waiting!" His boss slammed the door behind the American, like a prison cell sliding shut. This was why a slightly ticked off Arthur was fun, but a furious one was just plain mean. An angry Arthur would rant for a good 10 minutes about how disrespectful it was, and how Alfred does that every day, or how he'll lessen the pay per month and blah, blah, blah. However, that rant knocks out that much more work time! Plus, Alfred could have a little fun with it and leave with the excuse: 'but we're wasting daylight!', and the Briton would flush and apologize, letting Alfred get off as the victor.

The American got up and brushed those leaves off and examined his work-area. He loved this place. The smell of burgers was always in the air, the taste of tomatoes and cheese hung like unsaid words, and the sounds of happy, chattering customers was ALWAYS a joy! This job was also a way for Alfred to set his creative inventions free! Pretty patties didn't work out that well, but it was better than English cooking... How did Arthur even get a restaurant when he was so bad at making food? It was a mystery to all of Hetalia Reef...

So he set the patties on the grill and watched the meat sizzle in their circular shapes. Soon. It was just moments away when he, Alfred F. Jones, would become the manager and add the changes he wanted to add for years.

He stared at the poster he drew of his vision, right beside the grill, hanging for all to see. It was a messy drawing, one that seemed to be drawn by a toddler, but Alfred dismissed the ridicules and focused on the dream which the sheet contained... With Arthur, Lovino, and him all wearing moustaches.

_Oh yeah... That would be the life..._

* * *

A nail dug into his sole.

"Ow!" The pain shot up his body, and Matthew yelped, pulling his injured foot back. Regardless that it was just a prick, his heel still throbbed with the wound as he tried to put his weight back on it. When he glanced to the floorboards below him, he saw it. The scraggly device which attacked him, popping out of the metal hinges like nobody's business. Well, it WAS somebody's business! In fact, it was a LOT of people's business! This was a restaurant! Customers could get hurt!

And then there was that pang of reality that cackled at him.

_WHAT customers?_

The Canadian sighed and looked around the spacious walls in melancholy. The peeling yellow wallpaper, scraped and spat on too many times to stand straight anymore. The wood floor, which creaked and groaned with every movement, as if begging the owner to put it out of its misery. There must have been termites at one point, as the left corner held a messily blocked-out hole to the ocean floor, where buds of coral were already starting to blossom. The beige tables were clean and shimmering, but they were also metal and incredibly uncomfortable, discarded to the café for free because someone didn't want them. Matthew ran his fingers along the surface of the sleek ordering counter, which also suffered abuse over the years. It was like the island of misfit lunchroom equipment.

Perhaps that was why nobody came in the first place. Matthew had to admit, he would never eat here upon first inspection. It looked like a house for the homeless with the stains and graffiti markings splayed upon the sides. In fact, one person once walked in and said something about wanting to join their 'posse'... And another came in with his son to look at all the most disgusting places in Hetalia Reef! (even though the _Magnifique Rose wa_sn't actually that grimy. Just poor-LOOKING.) Perhaps that was why the owner of this establishment was so down all the time.

Francis Bonnefoy, Matthew's boss and founder of the _Magnifique Rose_, created this restaurant with one passion in mind: to make gourmet dishes for everybody... However, that dream was soon shot down as Arthur Kirkland opened up the _Bloody Pirate_ just across the street... On the same day. By luck of the draw, the townspeople chose cheaper prices over taste, and flocked over to the other side. A blow to Francis, but he never gave up.

When Matthew applied for the job, Francis was already coming up with plots to get rid of his rival. Some were close, like when he confused Alfred for a whole week because of that 'where are the pickles?!' event, and others... Well... Let's explain it this way: He was so desperate one time, that he literally walked over there with a 'calendar' that he wanted Arthur to sign.

Now Arthur has a restraining order.

Not that Francis ever let THAT hold him back...

The sandy-haired male made his way to the staff room; a damp place where the ceiling leaked in a particular spot if it rained, and the pitfalls in the floor were a greater hazard than the precarious chandelier overhead (which was expected to fall any day now). The couches were worn, ragged, and torn around the edges; while one still had mounds of dog hair from a previous owner! There WERE colours in this room, but they were ones that neutralized over time and seemed to resemble mould-like shades (But Francis would NEVER allow a mould outbreak in his restaurant). However, the scent contradicted greatly with the view. Rose perfume swirled and crashed in the air, almost to the point of it being too much to handle. Matthew sighed in exasperation. Hadn't he told his boss last week to stop using so much of that stuff? Though, the Canadian kind of expected this to keep happening. Francis did what he wanted when he wanted to, and was a firm believer in his oversight of _amour_.

Now, where was that hammer?

Matthew scanned his livid surroundings, and eventually set his gaze upon the chalky cupboard which lay in the corner of the room. It fell off the wall soon after the Canadian had been hired, and neither had the money to get it fixed. Also, Francis was bad at woodwork... And mechanics... And with computers...

Regardless of the poverty the two seemed to be in, the Canadian really did enjoy his job. He wasn't very good with people to begin with, and truly did care for the restaurant and want to see it prosper. He enjoyed being involved in the everyday schemes the Frenchman seemed to come up with, and there was one other thing...

Francis could actually remember who Matthew was.

Cleaving the hinges open, the Canadian peered inside the wooden box.

Ah! There it was!

Matthew took the corroded tool from the inside and made his way to the safety hazard near the front door. How the nail got into the floorboards top-first would be a mystery unsolved; but at least there was a way to fix it. The blond kneeled to the ground, latched the claw to the sides, and started to pry the harmful device free. It twisted and turned like a snake swaying to a flute's tune, but refused to budge from its implanted position. Matthew frowned, trying to remove it from the other way, which didn't work either.

The boss walked in just as his employee had given up the struggle and just started hammering the pointed end into the ground.

"_Mon ami... Qu'est-ce-que tu fais_?"

The Canadian turned back to see his bemused elder's expression, examining the scene as if it were a comedy sketch. He beamed joyously from his crouched position. "Ah... _Bonjour, Francis_! There's just a stubborn nail here, but don't worry! _Ne vous inquiétez pas!_ I've got it under control!"

The blond turned back to his work, failing to catch his Francis' smile fade. Maybe if he had removed the slab of wood altogether... But that probably would have done more harm than help. Matthew examined the product, which didn't actually look too bad. Maybe if he tried-

"_Matthieu_... We need to talk..."

Startled a bit from the solemness of those words, the Canadian froze, and steadily turned his head. His boss' face was etched with anxiety, and he seemed to look elsewhere instead of directly at his employee. Matthew sat up and gave his full attention.

"_Oui, Francis? Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?_"

The Frenchman sighed and eased himself at one of the tables, that distressed feature still across his face as he peered out a broken window. The sun basked the world with an empty light. "I think I'm going through a mid-life crisis..."

"What makes you say that?"

A silence crossed, and it make the younger worried. Francis rarely thought of the serious things in life; only about _amour_ really... Unless...

"I'm thinking of giving up. Selling this place and leaving town." He seemed to space out for a moment, get lost in some thought, but snapped back soon after. "_Oui_. I have decided... I've tried everything from getting rid of the competition to trying new bargaining techniques but..." Another exhale as the Frenchman slammed his head onto the sterling tabletop, letting his blond hair fall free onto the surface. "_Malheureusement, je suis un échec_... I'm not meant to stay here..."

"Th-That's not true! You've done so many great things, Francis!" Matthew reasoned, standing up and rushing to his elder's side. "What about...? Um... Didn't you...? No, that's not it..."

Francis looked up as the Canadian struggled to grasp something. Anything would do for now. "Maple... Hey, what about...! No, that wasn't you either... D-Don't tell me... I can do this... Maybe...?"

"Forget it." The emotional Frenchman slapped his hand on his employee's mouth and hit his head back onto the table. "I'm not of any use to anybody. I'm a failure as a human... Maybe I should just go die in a well..."

Matthew fidgeted with his fingers as his elder's palm freed his lips. He gazed down to the floorboards below him, noticing yet another crooked point peering out from the wood. Shyly, barely even in a whisper, he exclaimed, "You're not useless, Francis... You're the only person who actually notices me... That HAS to be worth something..."

The owner smiled softly. "_Oui. Mais... Qui ne sera pas payer les factures..._"

The other opened his mouth to retort, but then shut it. He was right.

The silence between them cast over like a shadow. Haunting and deafening, it dared the Canadian to make a move, to make things worse than they were. However, there was nothing to say. Clams chirped from afar, and the hum of electronics wafted above the figures. The scent of cleaning products itched at their noses, and reminded them that a true restaurant should have smells spiralling and dancing in the air, seducing customers to enter. There was nothing seducing about this restaurant. This restaurant truly was a failure.

It was a failure, but...

"I'm sure we haven't tried everything yet, Francis..." The younger persuaded, "W-What if we got a mascot? Something the rest of Hetalia Reef will recognize?"

There was silence.

"Wait... Um... What if we turn down the thermostat and make an skating rink? I'm pretty good on the ice, eh..."

Francis smiled apologetically. "I appreciate the effort _Matthieu_, but-"

"N-No! Wait! I- I have more ideas!" He blurted out, waving his hands around as if these ideas were floating aimlessly in the space around him. "W-We can make slogans! Scatter them so people can hear! R-Remember the time Alfred was yelling out something along the lines of... What was it...? 'Chum is fum'! Yeah, I think that was it! And the next day, everybody was saying it?"

The Frenchman stayed quiet for a moment. "_Oui... Je me souviens..._"

"A-And that time when you burst into Arthur's restaurant with... Um... A TINY bit less than your ordinary outfit on...! Didn't people flee the _Bloody Pirate_ and go to eat elsewhere?" Granted, the customers didn't go to the _Magnifique Rose_, but it was still a step forward.

"_Oui_..." The other admitted.

"See? There's still hope!"

"_Matthieu_..."

"We can still do it, Francis!" The Canadian glowed as he took his elder's hands and tugged at them childishly. The boss couldn't help but chuckle. "There's so many things we haven't tried!"

"Like... If we repeated the event where we mind-controlled Alfred, and instead use that cranky Italian?"

"Now you're getting it!"

"And have weekly events! Like 'Naked Tuesdays'? Ohonhon..."

Matthew froze. "Okay, maybe you're NOT getting it..."

Francis shrugged, finding absolutely nothing wrong with his suggestion.

"But you see? We just need to keep a positive outlook!"

"A positive outlook..." The Frenchman peered around his restaurant, watching as slanted signs written in sloppy paint were crossed over walls with faded designs. "You know, I guess this place doesn't actually look THAT horrible... I HAVE seen worse..."

"Yeah!" Matthew agreed instantaneously, pulling Francis up from his seat and jumping around the cafeteria. "It's just a tight spot right now! We can get through it!"

"_Oui_!" The boss laughed out loud and followed his employee's actions. "Just a bad day! _Que sera sera_!"

"Exactly! We can-!"

_SMASH!_

Matthew and Francis jumped simultaneously, looked to each other in horror, and bolted to where the noise emanated from. The owner hurried along first, with the other chasing along his footsteps, fearing what they were about to witness. The Frenchman was the first to reach the staff room door, and swept the door open, freezing as he witnessed the scene. The younger lagged behind, but from behind his boss' back, he too could see the damage which was inside...

The chandelier was laying limp on the ground, with little see-through shards sprayed in all directions. The scent of overheated lightbulbs and gas wafted within the four walls, and made the two wrinkle their noses and wave their hands. The broken piece of decoration had toppled onto a dining table, which had snapped under the sudden weight, revealing fallen slivers and bent legs. The couches aligned beside the wreck weren't safe from the abuse either, as they seemed to be torn even more by the glass poking out of its sides, showing stuffing as if it were blood.

Matthew watched guiltily as Francis took a deep breath and rubbed his temples.

"I guess that settles it..." He breathed out heavily, turning away from his staff room. HIS staff room. The one he promised he would fix up and show the world. The one he practically grew up in during his few years in Hetalia Reef. "I'm selling it. There's no more point. Maybe I should just move back to the _Golfe du lion_..."

"W-What? N-No...!" But Francis had already shown his back and started to walk away. "Wh-What about...?"

"I'm sorry, Matthieu..." The Frenchman took his coat from a rusty hanger and slipped it on, not removing that bitter smile as he slowly made his way out. "Let's just call it a day. I need to think about some things..."

Matthew stayed there as the door clicked shut. This place was a mess, but it was THEIR mess. It was special. It wasn't like other restaurants. He turned to the clusters of broken pieces, and then to the lump which once hung from the ceiling. It was broken, yes, but a lot of things in this café were. It was nothing to be ashamed about... Right?

So with that, the Canadian picked up the dustpan and slipped on the rubber gloves, letting their squeaky insides to embrace his fingers. Just a rough time right now, yes, just a rough time...

* * *

Francis continued along the pavement, deep in thought.

_I really wanted to believe that... I wanted to believe that it could be done... That we could rebound from what seems impossible..._

Kicking the milky sand at his toes, the Frenchman watched as coral inched passed his gaze. Why did everything have to seem so flawless? The sun still shone even if there was a problem, even if there was a death. It was like nothing really needed to exist. Yet, why did it hurt so much to fail? To work so hard only to have everything crushed? To have your life strung onto one simple word...

Meaningless.

_You're not useless, Francis... You're the only person who actually notices me... That HAS to be worth something...!_

Were those the only words that kept him here? That almost manipulated him to stay? To raise his hopes only to have them crushed again? Francis knew the Canadian was only trying to be helpful, but...

Maybe this is what he needed.

Maybe he just needed to leave. His place was not here. Not here in the soft Hetalian sands... Not here where the townspeople walked around aimlessly and car crashes were a normal occurrence... Not here where every day was a new adventure, as super heroes and villains popped up and left within the span of a half-hour... Maybe he should just get on a bus to Quittersville or Loserburg...

"Hello, friend!"

In surprise, Francis spun around, only to be greeted with glittering silver buildings and empty porthole windows. Strange... he swore he heard something. Maybe it was just his guilt eating at him... Or... Perhaps he had finally caught Arthur's imagination and started seeing invisible friends too... _L'horreur_...

"It's not nice to ignore people you big bully!" The voice exclaimed from below, this time tugging at the Frenchman's cloak, almost sending the entrepreneur toppling to the ground. He caught his balance though, and peered to the ground where a diminutive boy stood at his feet, probably not even the age of 10, wearing a sailor suit.

"Oh! _Bonjour_!" Francis cooed, patting the short person's blue hat. He may have lost his job, his dream, his future, his dignity... Where was he going with this again? Oh yeah! Regardless of all this, there was no reason to ignore an adorable thing like this... "What's a cute child like you doing out by yourself?"

"I'm not a CHILD, you jerkface!" The boy pulled back, a scowl crossed on his face as he glared at the older male. "And if you want ANY help from me, you'll have to stop being mean to me!"

"_Quoi_? Help?" Francis was genuinely confused at first, but then continued with a curt laugh as if the adolescent had not just sliced through his heart. "You must be mistaken, little one... _Je n'ai pas besoin d'aide_..."

"I don't know what you're saying..." The sailor child started, placing his petite hands on his hips and staring the Frenchman straight in the eyes. "But you want to get rid of that smelly jerk Arthur, don't you?"

"_Oui_, that WAS my goal, but..." He had to prevent himself from snickering at this new image of the businessman across the street. "You know, after I sell the place, I won't have any need to plot against Arthur. Granted, I'll NEVER eat the junk they serve there in my life, but I won't work to destroy it like I used to..."

"Wait, what? You're SELLING it?" The boy's eyes went wide in shock and mild confusion. "B-But you can't sell the place now! I've finally completed the perfect plan for Arthur's demise!" With this, he slung over the backpack he had been wearing and fumbled inside, a sense of urgency spreading across his features. The messy papers from schoolwork and drawings crinkled and snapped under his forceful fingers as he buried deeper into his knapsack. It was almost nostalgic to the Frenchman.

"_Garçon_, try to understand. I've been plotting against Kirkland for YEARS. I don't think any plan will-"

The juvenile sailor suddenly pulled out a beige folder, kept safe within a plastic covering, unlike the other mauled pieces in his bag. He shoved it out to the Frenchman, taunting him, waiting patiently for his move with determined eyes. "I've looked at the choices from every angle. And this will work. 100%."

It was just a folder, perfectly kept within that see-through covering. How many pages did it consist of, this plan? Maybe ten, fifteen pages were sandwiched within the glossy, cream encasement. It didn't look too dangerous at all, and in the hands of a child? Francis could only assume that this whole thing was a prank set up by his arch-rival, just so that the other could see how desperate the Frenchman would become to get rid of him. Taking a plan from a child was a risky wager, as it would mean he would HAVE to see through to it, regardless of how stupid and annoying it ended up being. Nevertheless, he HAD done some pretty stupid and annoying things already, and one more couldn't hurt, right?

That boy said this plan would work, 100%.

Now, he knew he couldn't really trust a small child's exaggeration, but...

The possibility of actually SUCCEEDING made Francis' skin tingle.

"_Oui_. I'll try it." He gave in to his conscience, reaching out for the paper with a slight loss of dignity shivering at the back of his mind. "It's not like I have anything left to hold onto..."

Thus, the first step of "_Plan Zéd_" began...

Or did it?

"You're lucky I have a big heart!" The sailor child grinned joyously, handing over the papers willingly. "Hey, will YOU recognize me as a nation?"

"As a nation?" The Frenchman questioned. "Is this even the right fanfic for that?"

Well, as everybody knows, when the fourth wall breaks, there could be some MASSIVE changes...

* * *

-O-O-O-

* * *

**You DIDN'T sing along to the Goofy Goober song?! *gasp* Then why are you HERE?!**

**Yes, the fourth wall broke. It's going to happen a lot... I'm expecting a LOT of crack in this fic, so... BE PREPARED~... Oh, great, now Lion King is being injected here... -_-**

**Anyways... I thought it would be interesting to put France in the "poor" role, as he usually always plays the richer, more exotic people. In a way, France suits Mr. Krabs WAY more than England does, but I thought this direction of the story made it a lot more unique... Although, when I started writing this, my conscience then exclaimed: "You know... ENGLAND owns the Krusty Krab. A RESTAURANT. Where they make FOOD. You know that, right? RIGHT? WHY?!"**

**Also, I'm EXTREMELY sorry about my fail Google Translate. If you would like to correct me, feel free to do so. I'm a bit desperate here... (I'll only define the more complicated sentences... I hope you all know what "Oui" means... -_-)**

**Qu'est-ce-que tu fais? - - - What are you doing?**

**Ne vous inquiétez pas! - - - Don't worry!**

**Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? - - - What is it?**

**Malheureusement, je suis un échec... - - - Unfortunately, I am a failure...**

**Qui ne sera pas payer les factures... - - - That will not pay the bills...**

**Je me souviens... - - - I remember...**

**Je n'ai pas besoin d'aide... - - - I don't need help...**

**Oh yeah, I don't add in their accents. Two main reasons: Whenever Germany says 'We' (Ve), I always think he's turning into Italy (but as you know: Germans are Germans everywhere)... AND I heard a comment on Youtube telling Japan to say the word "election"... No. Never adding in the accents...**

**DISCLAIMERS: Woo! *throws confetti* (this is going to lose its novelty really quickly, isn't it?) I don't own a pineapple under the sea! Or Spongebob Squarepants! I'm not absorbent or yellow or porous you see... Or Spongebob Squarepants! Yeah... I'm going to stop that now. I don't own He-taaaa-liiii-aaa~! Shoot... So many songs... Unfortunately, I don't own any of the musical numbers... Or would I say "fortunately"? I mean, would YOU like the copyrights for: "I'm a Goofy Goober, yeah!"? Maybe you would. But that's not the point here. The point is that I own basically nothing. Just the story... I guess...**

**FINALLY! Finished the intro! The next chapter will be the manager-choosing scene! Not sure when I will write it though... I have Biology work... So... Much... Bio work... o_e AND MID-TERMS! GAAAH! *throws the table, and the closet I recently grew mushrooms in...***


	3. Chapter 2: A manager? Fireworks!

**GAAH! THE LONG UPDATE TIME! I'm so sorry, guys! School took over my life. But on the bright side: I got an "A-" in my Biology course! Woohoo! And that one has a high fail rate (from what I've heard... ^^") *dances and parties***

**Plus, I also feel bad about leaving all of you on such a... lame... chapter... I mean, I read it over, and it actually wasn't that funny to me... But now we're FINALLY getting to the comedy part! And it will only get more crack-tastic from hear! (See? I was so excited about the crack that I used the wrong "here"!) HOWEVER, I feel as if something is lacking... What do you guys think? **

**Oh, hey! Lately I've been looking at "Hetalia Confessions"! Some are so sweet! ... And some are so true... I mean, there was one that said: _I hate it when America called England "Iggy"_... That makes sense... "Iggy" is from "Igirisu" which is Japanese, not English... If anybody sees anything little like that which could be changed to make this story more "canon"... (Well, it's Spongebob-Hetalia. My canon choices are a bit limited...) ANYWAYS... If you see something that either offends you or may offput others, please tell me! I would love to change my story for the better! Especially if it's just changing "Iggy" to "Artie"! :D That's such an easy change! XD (Wow, I ask for audience help a LOT... Hm... Well, I guess that IS why I joined this site... to improve... XD)**

* * *

-O-O-O-

* * *

**Chapter 2: A manager? Let's talk about fireworks!**

"Will you bloody gits just SHUT UP?!"

Now, opening ceremony or not, Hetalia Reef was a pretty busy place. Not exactly an ample tourist city, but not a stranded ghost town either. It had everything one may need: a beach, a cinema, theme park, skiing mountain, a few museums, and quite an array of eateries (the _Bloody Pirate_ being the most popular by far). The population bordered around fifty thousand; each of whom loved getting involved with the ongoing happenings. So when there was an event, it was always teeming with inspired citizens... Even when Lovino tried to get a marching band together! People with no experience just showed up for the heck of it. It drove the Italian mad, but it was a good town memory.

Mix that enthusiasm with the opening of the _Bloody Pirate 2_, and you could CHARGE people to participate. In fact, that's exactly what Arthur did. He charged 9 dollars a head, and even 18 to a guy walking by with some lettuce. At least half the city was expected to come, and it brought in a good profit. They could even afford to rent a nice, wooden stage for the big event! Everything was turning out right...

Then Alfred brought the fireworks.

Arthur had just finished welcoming everyone when the first one went off. The Hetalia Bottomites immediately went into a state of panic. Or amusement. There was a mix of both running through the crowd. Regardless, it eventually ended up as some big debate: those who supported the use of the hazards and those who did not.

"We're UNDERWATER! It's not logical!" Old woman Monaco yelled out; but her wise, surprisingly loud voice was drowned out by, "You're a Knucklehead McSpazatron!" and "MY LEG!"

"Logic is a trivial excuse!" Someone laughed from the other side. As expected, none other than Alfred F. Jones stood on his rickety chair and bellowed the comment within the swamp of bickering people. His boss watched the scene in disarray.

It was a wonder there weren't any fires starting yet. Those threats to everyone's life were gliding flawlessly from the hands of anyone who came into the possession of one, usually missing the heads of innocent bystanders by mere centimetres (or inches). A young child even got a grasp on one and tried to consume it! The mother quickly got hold of the danger and flung it away, where it grappled onto one man's toupee and flew off into the open water. People weren't sure whether to watch the colours explode like flowers blooming in the sky or point and yell: "BALD! BALD! BALD!"

The Englishman behind the pedestal did not look pleased. He sighed and rubbed his temples, muttering something along the lines of, "Could this get any worse?"

"I'M THE HERO! AHAHA!"

"Bloody hell, Alfred! GET OVER HERE! We're supposed to be HOSTING this thing, not making it WORSE!" As the owner barked this, he examined the hopelessly boisterous crowd for distractions. Something that would get the audience's mind back to the stage in an orderly fashion. However, that seemed almost impossible with the exhibition of different hues soaring overhead. His gaze unconsciously turned down to the front of the stage, where there seemed to be more than one seat unoccupied. "And where is Lovino?!"

A firecracker whizzed over the irate male's head, barely dodging as he ducked at the last minute. He shot a swift, accusing glare to the assembly in front of him. "Okay, WHO DID THAT?!"

"HOW THE HELL DO YOU WORK THIS DAMN THING?!" A voice from behind him screeched. Arthur turned just in time to witness a furious Lovino kicking one of the firecrackers on the ground, which suddenly ignited and shot under the audience's feet. After the direction it went was navigated by the people whom jumped out of their seats, it snaked out of the crowd and passed the first Bloody Pirate into the open sand. The audience was forced to look away as it blew, sending off globs of sand in all directions. Some even got hit in the face with the chunks, while one call from the horde screamed: "MY EYES!"

Silence hit after that. People looked at each other and to the front where the owner of the _Bloody Pirate_, still standing in front with an outfit which now consisted more of soil than cloth, cleared his throat into the mike. "WELL... Now that THAT'S over with... Can we PLEASE sit down and have a PROPER ceremony?"

"AHAHA! You don't scare me, Artie!"

"Do you WANT to find out the next manager or not?!"

Alfred grinned triumphantly, while skipping to his seat in front of the assembly. He plopped down, with that stupid expression never leaving his features. "Of course!"

"I don't care either way." His Italian employee growled, but still planted himself in his chair.

Arthur sighed with relief into the mike. FINALLY things were under control.

At least it was a nice day. The ceremony was supposed to begin at noon and no later. It was one now. 1:17 actually, the businessman confirmed with a quick look to his wrist. The noises of car horns beeped from afar, and the scent of grease wafted around the restaurants like smog would. And... mustard? Where did that come from? Probably the American in front gorging down a couple burgers, one in each hand. An audience member beside him scooted away in disgust.

That being said, Arthur looked to the front row where one empty seat seemed to stand out. That was strange... They had prepared a seat for everyone early in the morning (much to the cussing of Lovino and the infernal singing of Alfred). Whose seat was that?

Wait...

"Hey, Alfred, wasn't you brother going to show up?"

The American in question looked up with food still in his mouth.

"Oh! I'm righ-!"

"You're right!" The employee exclaimed, glancing quickly to the seat beside him. He looked back up to his boss with a laugh and dismissive wave of his hand. "I guess he's late! Can we stall for five more minutes?"

"But I'm-!"

"We're an hour behind schedule!" The Briton burst.

Alfred jumped up from his seat excitedly. "Maybe he went to get me McDonalds!"

"You work in a fast-food restaurant, you git! Why are you buying from the competition?"

A silent sigh was covered by the argument. "You know what? Forge-"

"But I REEEEEALLY like McDonalds!"

"Do you even know what they put in those heart-attacks?"

"Ohonhon~ That's what she said!" Francis randomly jumped out from the back of the crowd, waving happily to his rival. Well, at least he was wearing clothes this time...

"How did YOU get here?!" Arthur yelled out, pointing an accusing finger. "And what does that even MEAN?!"

"I DO work right across the street, cher..."

"Don't speak to me in your perverted French, frog!"

"Well, if you are going to call me a frog, at least call me grenouille..." Francis sighed dramatically and brushed his hair with a wipe of his hand. "Let me keep SOME of my dignity, ami..."

"Never! In your dreams!" The other spat.

"Perhaps, but..." The Frenchman chuckled darkly. "You really don't have a say on what you call me in my dreams, oui?"

A stale silence crossed the area. Every single person in the crowd interpreted this sentence differently. Well, except for one, whom didn't interpret it at all...

"Wait, dude, what?" Alfred turned to his boss. "What do you call him in his dreams?"

"How the bloody hell am I supposed to know, git?!" A heavy blush spread across the owner's face as he glared daggers at his rival. Francis laughed. Wait, wasn't he supposed to be moping around somewhere?

A tomato was thrown at the trio, hitting Francis and Alfred square in the face but missing Arthur's and splattering on his shoulder. Regardless of the luck, the owner still did not look pleased about his outfit becoming more and more abused over time. Lovino stood up and pointed at the three of them angrily.

"GET ON WITH IT, BASTARDS! I'm not getting paid to deal with you!"

By now, most of the people were regretting their choice of buying tickets. However, they did pay a good 9 dollars for it... Poor lettuce-guy was waiting for something, anything, to get his money's worth of the show.

Arthur deeply sighed into the microphone. "Okay, okay. Maybe I should start with the naming of the manager, how does that sound?"

A single whistle echoed from the crowd and a firework shot up into the air, bursting into an array of colours.

"I told you to stop that, Alfred!"

"Come oooon!" He whined. "Fireworks are fun!"

Arthur attempted to ignore this, shaking his head in a 'this conversation is over' type of way. The American pouted. "Okay... MOVING ON. So the new manager is a loyal, hardworking employee..."

Alfred smiled and raised a bit in his seat.

"The obvious choice for the job...!"

"Ow! Al! Stop shaking me!"

"A name you all know...!" The owner persisted, maintaining the suspense for the audience who really didn't care anymore, "It doesn't start with an S!"

"Aw..." Sadik stood up and left the crowd with his head down.

"Did he even work-?"

"Shh!" An anxious American interrupted.

"Please welcome your new manager..." The Briton snatched onto the curtain rope and tugged to reveal a face everyone in the crowd knew... and maybe not in the best way, "Lovino Vargas!"

"I KNEW IT! WOOHOO!" Alfred jumped up from his seat, dropping an unfinished burger in the process, and shot yet another firework into the air. Seriously, how many of those did he have? Anyway, he made a mad dash towards the stage, but ended up tripping over a step and falling face-first onto the wood finish. Arthur and the other audience members watched in silence and slight confusion as the employee bounced back up and rushed to the microphone, snatching it from his boss' hand. "Better luck next time, Lovi! For now, THE HERO takes a stand! AHAHA!"

"I told you to stop calling me that!" The Italian held up a tomato threateningly, "You're lucky I don't have my moustache to use against you!"

"People of Hetalia Reef! ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?!" Alfred called into the mike, throwing a thumbs up as the people surrounding him shook their heads in horror.

"Uh... Alfred?"

"As the new manager, I declare that everyone. Must. DANCE! AHAHA!"

"Hey! Bastard, pay attention!"

"You will call me Alfred F-YEAH Jones from now on!"

"You didn't get the job!"

"Ahaha! Of course I did!"

The audience looked to each other and waited in an awkward silence.

"No, you didn't! LOVINO is the manager!"

"Wait... what?"

"You. Did not. Get. The job."

The employee in question waved his hands around, which seemed to be trying to act out whatever he was piecing together in some weird, alien act. "I...?"

"No."

"Not even...?"

"Not even."

It seemed to finally hit the American as he turned to his boss. "B-But... why?"

"I mean... you know..." The businessman continued tentatively, making sure not to stress anything too painful to the heartbroken-looking male. He looked like a kicked dog, "You rarely come to work on time, and even when you do, you try to make everybody annoyed... I just wanted someone to rely on, you know?"

"You can't... rely on me?"

"Well... I mean... No."

"I see what you're trying to say!" The American burst, nearly in tears, and pointing to Arthur accusingly. "You're trying to say that you can't rely on me!"

"Uh..."

"YES, Alfred." Lovino scowled helpfully, still from the safety of his seat in the front of the audience, "That's EXACTLY what he's trying to say. Bastard."

"Fine then! I can take a hint!" He shoved the microphone and left it to bang onto the floor, causing a screech of feedback to make the audience cringe. The employee didn't care though. He stormed off to his chair, where he snatched the burger he left and continued walking. "I'll just... pack my thing and go!"

The crowd watched as the American practically ran away, and assumed that the sniffling noises came from him as well. Even FRANCIS watched silently, almost shaking his head in disappointment until analyzing what he did last chapter. Yeah. Maybe ditching his employee to talk to a child wasn't the best career choice either. He slowly backed away into his restaurant before anybody could say anything.

Lovino looked to Arthur unenthusiastically. "So...? Now what?"

"Oh, right... Um... Ahem..." The owner got the population's attention once again. "So, if... Lovino would please come up and-"

"VE! VE!" A sudden voice shouted from afar, "Hooray for Alfred!"

The crowd could hear the Italian running towards them, and turned to witness a big plate of pasta gripped in his fingers, and curl bouncing happily in the wind.

"Fratello?" Lovino stood up from the crowd. "What are you-?"

It was then that they realized.

The curl wasn't the only thing bouncing in the wind...

Some clamped their children's eyes shut. Others looked away in disgust or privacy. Another yelling of "MY EYES" echoed through the area. Nobody was really willing to look at the oblivious male.

"F-Feliciano...?" The cashier Italian questioned tentatively, trying not to look... below the belt area, "Why aren't you wearing any pants...?"

"Ve... I'm not?" Looking down at himself, the other noticed the problem immediately. However, he did not lose that jolly grin for a moment, "Ve! I'm not! Scusa, I just finished my schedule early and took a nap! When I woke up, I realized I was late and came as fast as I could, ve! I guess I just forgot them!"

"You don't just FORGET things like pants, Feliciano you bastardo!" Now the children not only had their eyes covered, but their ears as well.

"Now will you two just CALM DOWN?" Arthur snapped back from the stage. "First Alfred, now this? Honestly! I should fire the lot of you!"

The Englishman was talking to himself more than anything else though, because Lovino continued to shout curses at his brother, whom whined and spouted excuses. Nobody was sure who threw the first tomato (although everybody assumed the same culprit), but it started the food fight. Yes, apparently everybody in Hetalia Reef can magically conjure their favourite food out of thin air.

Arthur glared at the crowd, obviously not impressed with the ordeal. His employee was acting like a child amongst the rest who had no fear in throwing potatoes, celery, and bowls of soup at their friends and neighbours... And don't even get him started on how he felt Alfred was behaving... Taking deep breaths, the owner seemed to be trying to calm his steadily growing nerves. It wasn't until one lonesome sausage slammed against his face when he finally burst.

'WILL YOU ALL JUST BLODDY BEHAVE, YOU BLOODY BUNCH OF GITS?!"

That was when the stage spontaneously combusted.

The audience stared at the scene with mouths agape as the boss quickly tumbled away from it. Anything could have caused that explosion. It could have been a stray firework. It could have been a certain flammable food. It could have been anything. Or maybe Arthur really WAS magic like he claimed... No, that couldn't be it.

"How is that even fucking POSSIBLE?!" Lovino yelled.

Someone brought out marshmallows, and once the coral sticks were passed around, the audience made a circle around the burning stage. The members remaining of the _Bloody Pirate_ watched in confusion as the audience took a greater interest in the fire than the restaurant they came to witness in the first place. Arthur shook his head.

"You know what? I don't even care anymore." Sighing and calling it a day, he leisurely made his way along the pavement in his sand-filled clothes and headed home.

Lovino frowned at the crowd, not that anybody really cared. Maybe he should just go home too.

"Ve! Lovi! Lovi! Wanna roast marshmallows with me?"

"W-What? No!" The annoyed Italian turned to see his brother, waving around two marshmallows in his hand as if they were treasures. "Why the hell would I want to roast marshmallows here?! With YOU? WITHOUT YOUR PANTS ON?" Feliciano cooed and seemed to be unfazed by the comment. Grabbing onto his brother's hand, Lovino dragged the bobbing male away. "Come on, we're going home. Where logic makes SENSE!"

"Ve!" was the only reply.

* * *

-O-O-O-

* * *

**Hm... England seems more like Germany in this chapter... -_- WHY CAN'T I WRITE AN ENGLAND THAT'S NOT OOC?! *headdesk* And "Old woman Monaco" is meant to imply that she's "Old Man Jenkins" here... Just in case you didn't know... ^^" I wasn't sure who to put into this spot...**

**Ahaha... I added in Francis when he actually wasn't supposed to be here... I think... SHHHH. There was nowhere else to add that conversation though! And you have to admit, it was a LOVELY conversation between them... :D **

**Hey! Guess what? Looked on fanfiction, there are M-RATED SPONGEBOB FANFICS! Who would do that to their childhood?! Who would make SPONGEBOB do stuff like that?! Of all things?! Or Patrick?! I mean, I'm sorry if you like that sort of thing, truly I am... I mean, different people have different tastes, but... SPONGEBOB? Seriously? ... ... We need to get those M-Rated thinkers to the Hetalia fanbase. Stat. XD**

**DISCLAIMERS~! The most important time of the day~ Serving up, the Cookie way~! (YAY SPONGEBOB! *shot*) I don't own Hetalia! Or Spongebob! Or a head of lettuce! Or any M-Rated Spongebob fics! Do I really own anything? Probably not. Probably. Maybe. Who really knows, eh? Ohoho~! XD (Gettin' into the Christmas spirit... WITH SPONGEBOB! *shot*)**


	4. Chapter 3: A plan? This is a rifle!

**TADA! A long update time! *dodges brick* Hey! Not cool! I... I have no real excuse... I guess I just got addicted to "Whose Line is it Anyways"... If you have not watched this show, YOU HAVE NOT LIVED. X3**

**I changed Shell City's name! MUAHAHAHA! Well, I seriously didn't think "Shell City" was an original-enough name... compared to the other really lame names I made... *headdesk* I'm not good with names, okay?! DX That's why I refuse to make up fan-names for the characters... Yes. Liechtenstein's human name is totally Liechtenstein (I think Lili is more of a nickname... So I still use it... ^^)... Aren't I creative? -_-**

**You know what? I like you guys. Seriously. This story has about 380 views total. There are 14 reviews (14 reviews? Wait, did I read that right? O-o S-So many reviews! D:). But seriously! That's about 1 review for every... uh... *gets calculator* ... 27 views! Eeeeh?! Seriously?! That a great income, I don't know about you! :,D But then again, if you click on a story labelled: "Spongebob-Hetalia"... Really, what are you going to expect? A plot? Pffft. XDD**

* * *

-O-O-O-

* * *

**Chapter 3: A plan? This is a rifle!**

"Now, listen _Matthieu_..." Francis murmured while patting his employee on the back. The other peered doubtfully over the hedges at the scene ahead of them. "All we need to do is go in there and take what's most important to that King: his rifle."

"'ALL we need to do?'" Matthew quoted disbelievingly, eyes never wavering from the lights of the castle ahead. With his glasses, he could see the vast amounts of watchmen, holding rifles and scanning the striped lawn for anything abnormal. The Canadian swallowed hard, face turning white as he watched an unfortunate jellyfish passing the forbidden boarder and meeting its calamitous demise. Francis probably never heard him whimper, "You're going to get killed..."

The two from the _Magnifique Rose_ went over _Plan Zéd_ soon after the epidemic at the _Bloody Pirate. _Matthew was ecstatic about Francis getting his game face back on... until he saw the battle plan. It was a simply written design, only 4 steps... However, each one seemed as impossible as the next.

**1. Steal King Vash's rifle**

**2. Leave evidence that jerk Arthur took it**

**3. Send it to World's City**

**4. Blame everything on Arthur**

The Canadian must have had horror written all over his face as the other tried to coax him into agreeing to it. It wouldn't be that bad! They would just have to find a way in and sneak around, right? Plus, with Matthew's invisibility, anything is possible!

Needless to say, eventually the shy male agreed and they set off to, well, here: in front of King Vash's Castle, a ruler's length from the boarder, unarmed in any way, and with the desire to go in and steal. Steal from King Vash. King Vash's rifle... The notion in itself was a sign of insanity, really. When Alfred claimed one day that he wanted to try just once, imagining that THE HERO could totally get passed the security, the surrounding population immediately questioned if they should put him in an institute or something. Now Matthew knew why.

Francis nudged the other slightly forward, "Alright _Matthieu_, _bonne chance_! I have complete faith in you, _mon petit_!"

"What?!" The male nearly shrieked, until suddenly realizing where he was and ducking under the bushes. However, a wail from the Canadian wasn't nearly loud enough to be considered by the guards. However, he still toned his voice down, just in case, "Me?! I thought this was YOUR plan! Why am I going to do this?"

Francis waved his hand confidently,_ "Matthieu, _nobody notices you! I bet you can walk passed that field and nobody will lift a finger!" He chuckled to himself, "Ohonhon! I bet not even the great King Vash can notice you, and he probably cares about his lawn more than anybody!"

It wasn't an insult or a compliment, the Canadian bitterly realized as he turned to the scene. Never before had the smell of a freshly-mowed lawn terrified the shy male so. With grass that didn't even surpass a certain height and a distinct loss of crickets chirping, one could undoubtedly conclude that King Vash prized his area. Everything was in order. Everything was neatly in place. There was a rumour going on that, even if only one footprint disrupted his territory, the King could tell just by instinct.

And the worst part: Vash's lawn wasn't even the most important to him.

No, if anybody knew for certain, the king only had 2 things that he would murder for: his precious rifle, handed down by generations of trigger-happy kings, and his little sister Liechtenstein. Anyone who dared lay a hand on either would be electrocuted, or worse.

The Canadian shook his head, "Seriously? No. No way. It doesn't work like that, Francis! They'll notice and I'll be shot! I may even be killed out there!"

"But, _Mattheiu_!" Francis whined softly, "You know Vash has been on my tail since I tried to re-invent the Olympics! I'm basically one more error away from imprisonment! And not the good kind either!"

"But...! This is all just for a rifle!"

"_Non, Mattheiu_! All this for our restaurant!" As his boss clutched onto Matthew's hands, the shy male prepared himself for a monologue. "This is about us against the world, _mon employé_! You and me in a battle against that terrible influence Arthur Kirkland! And he's winning, _Mattheiu_! We can't let him get the last laugh!" Despite being 3 feet from certain death, Francis could still be dramatic when he needed to. His Canadian employee wasn't sure whether to praise his ingenuity or be twice as worried to be found out. "That rifle is the last hope we have of saving our little café! _S'il vous plaît, Mattheiu_, I will never ask for anything else of you! Let's just try this, and if it doesn't work, I PROMISE we can just forget it!"

Matthew sighed in distress. The older man's eyes were practically begging to be sympathized with.

He stood up.

"I'm an idiot." He grumbled, walking to his doom.

"_J'ai su que vous le feriez, Mattheiu! Bonne courage!_" Francis cheered from the safety of behind the bush.

* * *

"Bring the prisoner forward!"

Now, even though this process of dealing with 'prisoners' was a common occurrence which happened every day, maybe even every hour if Vash got his way! Anyway, it was a formal event in the royal castle. King Vash and Princess Lili would perch in their thrones as the culprit was brought forward, then they would have a chance to display their innocence. If found guilty, the consequences were fatal. King Vash chose judgement, and that in itself was a bad sign for any accused personnel...

The royal blondes sat in their chairs as the rest followed suit. Then the double doors slammed open, and the guards dragged a bored-looking male and curious-eyed female up to the front. With the spiked up hair and a cigarette in mouth, the man really did seem like a shady guy; however, the girl seemed to have a catlike smile as she paced the room, and winked at the occasional nobel who peered at her. Both looked so similar, and were probably siblings.

Vash glowered as the two set their eyes on him. The female waved.

"Hi again Vashy~"

"Do NOT call me that!" The king yelled, pointing at her with the tip of his rifle. The female only pouted.

"Come on! It's been, what, two weeks since we last saw you?" She turned to her stoic brother, who only nodded and took another drag of his drug.

"Are you trying to mock me?!"

"Not at all!" She laughed at the king's red face and waved her hand around dismissively. "So... Why are we here THIS time?"

Vash sputtered, and eventually burst, "Y-You two trespassed on this property without any justifiable reason!"

The strange man blew a smoke ring. "Yes, but I work here. I'm the royal gun polisher."

"I don't PAY people to touch my things!"

"You could."

"I DON'T."

"It's a possibility."

"SHUT UP!"

The male looked at his sister and shrugged. "It could have worked." She nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

"You two should be executed!" To this, the two only shrugged in unison, making the king practically smoke at the ears.

"B-Big _bruder._.." Princess Lili interrupted, gently tugged on her brother's sleeve and catching his angered attention. "They just probably went across to-"

"To sell drugs in chocolate?" He muttered bitterly.

The female convict huffed, "Hey! I take offense to that!"

"YOU SHOULD!"

"_B-Bruder._..!" The small girl whined again, pulling her brother back from almost lunging at the other two, "They didn't trespass that far into the border! I mean, just-"

"Besides," The stoic prisoner interjected, looking off to somewhere else entirely as gas danced around his face, "When you decided to place accusations onto us, you pulled us across that lovely lawn of yours, dragged us along your carpets to this room, and now I see ALL your windows are closed to keep this beautiful smell in."

Just for annoyance's sake, the male blew his cigarette fumes into the king's face.

"Wha-? Will someone put that out?!" A knight beside the convict sliced the lit end of the cigarette with a sword, just missing the male's nose and other vital facial parts. However, the captive didn't seem all that phased by the action and only glared at the guard.

"You know what? Fine. FINE. I'll let you go for now." The king growled, throwing his hands up irritably, "BUT. If I ever see you again anywhere NEAR here, I will shoot you until you are dead! Now get bent!"

Without another word, the two criminals were dragged down the hall and tossed out of the double-doors by two of the knights. The room went silent. The king narrowed his eyes at the awaiting crowd. "Well? Nothing else to see here! Go and do your jobs or something! And for God's sake, would SOMEONE please open a window?!"

The others, as if turned on by a switch, hurriedly rushed around and out of the room without even a peep. Some opened the windows, but only a few, and everybody kept their heads down. Soon it was only Lili and Vash alone in the large area.

The younger looked up to her brother. "Big _bruder_... You didn't have to be so harsh..."

"I'm trying to protect you, Liechtenstein! Don't you realize what would have happened if anybody got to you?"

"That's so swee-"

"Or my rifle?!"

Lili smiled softly.

"I mean, that's an heirloom, _schwester_! Our heritage and birth from _Schweiz_! Aren't you proud of that?"

"Yes..." She sighed, recalling this speech from many instances before.

"One day, YOU will..."

He froze in place.

Lili blinked, "B-Big _bruder_?"

"Ah, it's nothing. I-" He stopped again and spun to the window, as if something was tapping on it. There was nothing there, and was Vash... SHIVERING? "D-Do you feel that?"

The girl peered around the room, and even glanced out the window. "No... Is somethin-?"

"Someone's on my lawn."

"_Was_?"

Vash was practically vibrating now. "Someone's. Coming. For. The. Castle."

"Th-That's impossible, _bruder_!" She piped up worriedly, but her brother's instincts were rarely wrong, "We have the best scouts in the-!"

"Lili." The king suddenly clutched onto her shoulders solemnly, staring right into her eyes. "I'm not wrong! Someone's. Coming!"

It was silent for a moment. From the look he was giving, Lili could tell that Vash was NOT lying... He could feel the presence approaching... But at the same time, what if it was like last time? Where only a stray jellyfish was whisked over the castle and floated down without even being noticed by the sentinels? But her brother's hands were shaking. Whatever it was, it was a threat! She could feel it in his voice!

"A-Ah! I- I understand! I'll contact the chief and get the guards all on high alert!" She dashed out of the room, with Vash following franticly.

* * *

Matthew didn't like being the scapegoat. Tip-toeing across the seaweed, mud squishing into his shoes, and being out and in the open for any guard to see, he realized that he probably shouldn't have agreed so easily into doing this. This ALWAYS happened. That's how he got a broken arm that one time when Alfred convinced him to go snowboarding with him. Of course, it wasn't SNOWboarding... More like sandboarding... The point remains! People were jerks to the poor Canadian. He didn't even bother to deny following them anyway...

The strong scent of pesticides made the male cover his mouth to prevent a coughing fit. He had to stay quiet! But his throat burned from the resistance. Why use pesticides on seaweed anyways? Wait, how did pesticides even work underwater? Needless to say, a college degree in Hetalia Bottom did nothing to explain, well, anything.

Matthew couldn't hold in anymore. He let out one little cough and searchlights immediately turned on.

Maple...!

The male whimpered as he froze in place. Did they maybe hear him? No, there seemed to be no alarms sounding, just searchlights... and the beams didn't go anywhere near him, they just seemed to move aimlessly around the area, just scanning. Perhaps this was a nightly thing? It still made the Canadian sweat, nevertheless. The shy blond forced himself to continue on, steps even more gentle and slow than before. At least there seemed to be no SWAT team awaiting orders...

Or was there?

Now's not the time to stress, Matthew... Just keep walking... They might be able to smell fear...

Oh, maple, COULD THEY?!

That was when he looked up and saw a spotlight coming right for him.

SERIOUSLY?!

WhattodoWhattodo... Run? No, there was a chunk of coral that would crack if he walked throu- Oh, maple, it was getting closer! What to do? What to do?!

BE THE PIANO!

Bethepianobethepianobethepia ...!

* * *

The head guard rushed in as Vash was clutching his head and rocking slightly. Lili patted his back, but she was used to this kind of mental breakdown every now and again. It was just another Tuesday.

"There was nobody there, sir! We searched every area outside and all we saw was a strange piano standing there!"

"PIANO?!" The royals exclaimed. Lili and Vash exchanged a look.

The king hissed darkly. "That damn, prissy aristocrat... RODERICH!"

The princess and knight watched as their leader stomped off to another room, irritably placing his prized rifle onto a column with a violet pillow on top, "I'M CALLING HIM!"

"W-Wait! _Br-Bruder_!"

* * *

Matthew tumbled into the castle, attempting as hard as he could to continue with hiding; but the stress was tearing holes in his soul. He couldn't contain in his gasps for breath or prevent hunching over in exhaustion. There were so many guards out there! Luckily, the one of the castle's windows seemed to be open and he jumped into it, but still... Why did they suddenly prepare the searchlights anyways? The Canadian was being as quiet as he could! Maybe King Vash really did have an insight to his belongings...

The male shivered at the notion. That must mean he would feel Matthew's presence as he treaded deeper into this castle... The Canadian hoped the rifle was somewhere close to here... He sure as maple wouldn't want to face a king's wrath...

The shy male straightened himself up after a few more deep breaths. Okay, where did he end up?

A throne room? It looked almost like a church. Stained windows that would glow in the sunlight, but seemed dead in the dark, and golden archways which looked faded and an ugly yellow shade in the moonlight. The scarlet carpets were vibrant though, piercing the room with their stunning fabric. Matthew tiptoed carefully across them.

The room smelt like cleaning products, and that was a dangerous sign of life in the area. Either the room had JUST been cleaned and he missed the janitor, or whoever cleaned the rooms, just in time; or the castle was shined and primped on an hourly basis. It wouldn't surprise the male if King Vash worked the cleaners for their money's worth. The ruler was known to like money, well, more than anything other than his rifle and sister. The list went princess, rifle, money. Well, maybe the rifle and his sister were tied. Matthew doubted he would ever find out.

He kept as close to the wall as he could and shuffled over to another door. Peeking through, he saw no moving figures and slipped in. Ah... If only there was a- Oh, hey! A map!

Wait... A map? In a castle...?

Matthew doubtfully paced to the directory, which strangely had small drawings of animals around it. Perhaps this map was for the princess? How cute... These drawing were like something from a child's book! Wait... How old was the princess anyway?

It didn't really matter. The Canadian scanned the markings of the rooms, and eventually found a 'you are here' sticker near the bottom. Maple, this place was large. Looking around some more, he saw a place labelled 'do not enter.' That seemed promising! Oh! And it was close too! Matthew spun around only to come face-to-face with a young girl.

He froze. She was staring directly into his eyes.

Was this the princess? She was young, probably only 12 years old. One short ponytail was hung to the left side of her face, a flower tying her hair together, and her chestnut eyes seemed to show a defiant nature. A large paintbrush was in one hand, and a palette in the other.

After a silence of eyeing each other, the child cocked her head and raised a thick eyebrow. "Are you a ghost?"

Oh, right in the self-esteem!

"N-No..." The shy male mumbled, trying not to take the comment too seriously.

She narrowed her eyes. "You look like a ghost."

"C-Can we stop talking about ghosts?"

"Are you afraid of them?"

"N-No."

"Then why do you want to stop talking about them?"

"Shh!" The Canadian hurriedly pressed a finger to his lips while turning frantically to see if anyone was around. Nobody was, surprisingly. Wait, what if this little girl was a night guard who LOOKED small, but would actually kick his butt if he revealed that he was a burglar? It was unlikely, but... The image of her wielding a giant sword in place of that paintbrush was almost TOO easy... Or maybe Matthew had just been watching his brother play too many of those types of video games...

The child frowned and followed Matthew's gaze to the other doors. "What is it? Nobody's coming. They're all outside."

"How do you know?" The shy male kept his voice hushed, just in case.

She shrugged. "Never mind that. Where are you going, anyways? You seem to be looking for something on that map..."

"Um..." Would it be okay to tell this girl? No, probably not. "I'm... Uh... Th-This door says 'do not enter'... I- I was just curious..."

She nodded blatantly. "That's where the royal stuff is all kept. You know, the rare, wealthy stuff. The royal crown, the royal rifle, the royal-"

"I-Is that really where they keep the rifle?!"

Matthew snapped a hand to his mouth. He had blurted that out without even thinking! Now she would know. And if not, she would at least be suspicious. Well, maybe she was too young to notice...?

She blinked. "Hm? Why do you want to know?"

Nope, not off the hook yet, "Um..." Think fast, Matthew! "I'm... Uh... The... royal gun polisher? Y-Yeah! I need to find the rifle to... uh... polish... it..."

Yet another quiet moment crossed the empty room as the younger stared at him questioningly. After what seemed like too long of a minute, a large grin spread across her face. "Well, why didn't you say so? Oh! But the gun's not THERE... King Vash left it somewhere else for now!"

"He did?"

"Yeah! He changes where he puts it sometimes, just so people don't steal it!"

Matthew stiffened.

"I'll take you to where I saw it!" the girl laughed, and spun around to the door he had just entered. She dashed off so excitedly to the next room that it took the Canadian a moment to realize what was going on before rushing after her.

It felt absolutely horrible to LIE to a little girl, but this was Matthew's best bet right now. He wouldn't know WHERE the rifle was kept, even if he GOT to the 'do not enter' door... Besides, it wasn't like he wasn't doing something illegal in the first place...

Matthew sighed heavily and tried to follow the girl while still half hiding AND half tiptoeing. He didn't want to lose sight of this girl, or for her to be even MORE suspicious if he looked cautious, but he ALSO didn't want to get caught. His lie would fall apart as soon as someone noticed him! There's no such thing as a royal crown polisher! Or... at least... he thought there wasn't... Was there? It was a mystery for another day...

Through the glimmering corridors, which were STILL too empty to consider normal for a castle of this stature, she lead him to a room with many exotic couches. A princely maize one here, a royal violet one there, and golden lamps shading the area with a soft glow. A living room? But by the look of the furniture, this place was probably worth more than Matthew's whole house!

Oh! But there was the rifle! Resting on a pillow... To the Canadian's surprise, the weapon actually didn't look that fancy in contrast to the room. Nevertheless, it did seem like a well-kept artifact, resting on a column like that as if in a museum.

Matthew turned to the girl and whispered "Th-Thank you..."

She shook her head, smiling widely, "It's okay! I've been lost before in here! It's a really big place!"

"Y-Yes..." The Canadian looked around before pacing across the area. Now... An easy escape route... The alarms may sound as soon as he grabbed this item, so for now... He just needed an easy escape route...

There! The window!

In a haste, before he even knew what he was doing, he snatched up the rifle and ran.

Matthew jumped out the window, tossing himself face-first into a coral bush. In any other situation, the male would have yelped in pain; but in that moment, he bounced right back onto his feet and sprinted to the end. It had been a while since the male had run that far that fast, and he was losing steam quickly. But the motivation that death could be right behind him motivated him to continue on.

Too bad nobody else noticed.

Not even Vash, who was up watching in one of the towers.

The Canadian ran until he got to the starting bush, where he flopped to the ground, gasping desperately for breath. "I... I got it..."

"_Bon travail, mon petit!"_ Francis cheered, still in the same spot Matthew left him in. What had he been doing all this time while Matthew was in the castle? On second thought, he didn't want to know.

Some blaring alarms suddenly screeched a warning and made them both jump in fear. "They seem to have spotted you though! _Dépêchez-vous! Dépêchez-vous!"_

They ran.

* * *

The girl hummed to herself after the male practically threw himself out the window. "Well then, I guess the replacement will be a bit easier..."

She tossed her paintbrush, which was actually a disguised rifle with a random, paintbrush-like wig on it, onto the empty pillow and hopped out the same exit. How the male she met missed the fact that her paintbrush was actually a weapon, she would never know.

The girl didn't catch up with the man who fled earlier, but it didn't matter, because she wasn't going that way anyway. She dashed to the left, all the way to the end, weaving around conveniently placed barnacles and coral shrubs. The alarms sounded, noticing her movement in the fields, probably. But she was already long gone by the time the castle reacted, passing the boarder of 'neat' to 'wild' without so much as a scratch. She sighed and toppled to the ground. That might have been close. You know, if her accomplices hadn't done their part in distracting the guards.

The girl finally pushed herself up and paced around the boarder until she met the two figures waiting for her: a smoking male and grinning female.

"So... Did you leave our little present there?"

"Yessir!" She laughed, saluting childishly. "Oh! Oh! But there was another nice guy there that stole the rifle for us! So we're home free!"

"Oh, my... What a neat little coincidence!" The woman laughed. "I say we all celebrate with chocolate!"

The man didn't even bother raising an eyebrow. "Chocolate?"

"It solves all problems." She declared.

The little girl nodded. "It really does."

"Fine. Let's just go before we get caught again." The male sighed, letting smoke drift out of his mouth. "I'm sick of that place."

"You're sick of every place."

"True, true."

* * *

And if you thought Vash was having a breakdown when he THOUGHT someone was on his lawn, imagine what his reaction was when he found out his PRECIOUS rifle was exchanged for another...

* * *

-O-O-O-

* * *

**Wy is in cahoots with Belgium and Netherlands? Wait, what? Well, I DID say that this story was going to be cracky. And now it is. (Isn't Wy an English colony? Ah, it doesn't matter. Her, Belgium and Netherlands could be bros. Totally. XD)... SHH! Don't ask for logic! Logic doesn't work in Spongebob crossovers! SHHH! *hides***

**More~ Fail!Google Translate~ ;D Now including self-doubt and confusion for ALL writers and readers~ Hooray! *is shot***

**Bonne courage! - - - Have some courage! (Thanks JulietGivesUp! :3)**

**J'ai su que vous le feriez! - - - I knew you would do it!**

**Schwester - - - Sister**

**Schweiz - - - Switzerland**

**Was? - - - What?**

**Bon travail! - - - Good job!**

**Dépêchez-vous - - - Hurry up!**

**Now, DISCLAIMERS for all you unwilling readers! I don't own a rifle! If I did, I would be able to describe one without saying "the rifle" over and over again! I don't own Vash, or his mental breakdowns, or his paranoia about his lawn, or his lawn in general! I don't own pianos, or that HetaOni reference, or the LIES! Think about it. What do I own here? If you look at an object I mention, and you don't think I own it, chances are, I probably don't own it. I own the ability to string random words together to make a story. That's it. These sentences I wrote? I wrote them by putting words in order. Anything mentioned is probably not mine. Really. I'm not a secret millionaire... SHH! *hides in your closet***

**Wanna hear a fun fact? In the original Spongebob Movie, the scene where Plankton takes the crown and the royal court/crown polisher scene takes about 10 minutes of film time. It took me 2 months to write. Writing Spongebob is haaard... -_- Seriously, how can you describe, using words only, Spongebob's laugh? It's not possible! Goodness. I have a whole new respect for stories that crossover with cartoons... -_-**

**Until next time... Which may be a while, as I've gotten busier and busier now... But I will not discard this story! Even if there's a 3-month hiatus, know that I'm still trying my best to write when I can! Homework and school come first, you know? DX S-Sorry...! (But I REALLY want to write the next scene! Just wait! Alfred and Feli get drunk off ice cream and you do NOT want to miss that! XDD)**


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